


long live the king

by alamorn



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13787760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/pseuds/alamorn
Summary: Erik didn't even think about making a scar for T'Challa until he was in the lab, staring at the Black Panther collar.





	long live the king

Erik didn't even think about making a scar for T'Challa until he was in the lab, staring at the Black Panther collar. He hadn't made one for Klaue, either, but that seemed less urgent. What was Klaue to him? But T'Challa…Erik had never killed a king before. Or a cousin.

T'Challa deserved something special.

He ran his hand over the collar. Gold. Ostentatious, unsubtle, but he wasn't trying to be subtle anymore. When he pulled it over his head, it was heavy, far heavier than it looked. Vibranium was still a metal after all. It settled where he'd worn his father's ring for so long but heavier. A metaphor made solid, if he wanted.

He activated it and felt the suit crawl over his body.

He could put T'Challa on his forehead. Get the rest of the family there too, a sweet little cluster of three. What about uncle Zuri? Four in a line, starting between his eyebrows, heading up to his hairline.

But not yet. The suit melted away and he headed for the throne room. The Dora were nowhere to be seen -- he'd sent them away, wanting to be alone, just for a moment. There was no time to sleep, no time to bring out his brand and figure out just where T'Challa belonged.

There was no space over his heart for this man he'd dreamed of for so long. That was almost a shame.

He couldn't stop thinking about T'Challa, the way he'd screamed when Erik gutted Zuri. What a weakling, to show his vulnerable belly so easily, as if no one would ever strike it. Power had made him complacent. It would not do the same to Erik.

A kill hadn't affected him so much since his first. It wasn't guilt. Erik had done away with guilt long ago. What was past was past, and there was no use fussing over it. There was only the future, only the war he would start.

He shouldn't have thrown T'Challa off the waterfall. He should have beheaded him where they stood. Put the head on a spike and displayed it. He'd liked the symbolism of throwing away the old king - nothing left but to move on. Deny them a body, deny them a rallying point, take their legs from under them.

But he wanted the surety of that head on a spike. The throne was uncomfortable, and not just because of the hard seat, hard back. It wasn't something meant to be sat for long.

It was uncomfortable because T'Challa wouldn't be dead until he laid the brand and let it heal, raised and nerveless. The only fairy tale Erik had ever believed in was Wakanda, and he couldn't shake that now that he stood in it. In fairy tales, nothing was ever over till the end. Red Riding Hood cut her way out of the Wolf. He wanted a body, and he'd sit uneasy till he got it.

He drifted to the view. It was as spectacular as his daddy had told him it would be. The air tasted different here. Clean and wet and something he couldn't identify, something he suspected was the vibranium, coming up through the ground, not bound to its form.

"Hey, cuz," he said to the whole wide world spread out before him, looking like nothing else out there. "I've got your throne. I've got your people. I got your blood on my hands. Whatchyou gonna do about it?"

T'Challa didn't answer just yet, but Erik knew it was coming.


End file.
